


Only Old Lady's Get Joint Pain. Right?

by KatieBug1998



Series: Supernatural One-Shots, Sick Fics, Injured Fics, and Hurt/Comfort [9]
Category: Grey's Anatomy, Supernatural
Genre: Comforting Dean, Concerned Dean, Crossover, F/M, Hospitals, Hurt, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 06:19:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10270151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieBug1998/pseuds/KatieBug1998
Summary: The reader has seriously bad joint pain. Dean, the boyfriend, is concerned. He convinces the reader to go to the hospital (Grey + Sloan Memorial). This is a crossover, but you don't have to watch Grey's Anatomy to understand it.If anyone has an idea for a better title, please let me know.





	

You can tell it's about to happen. You wake up in bed next to Dean, feeling the slight ache in the joints of your hips, knees, and ankles. There's about thirty minutes before the pain sets in. Gotta get ready.

Trying not to wake Dean, you get out of bed and head to the grungy bathroom of the grungy motel you're staying in. You brush your teeth then take the max amount of generic pain pills which probably won't work. Then you shower. Comfortable clothes are a necessity when this happens, so you put on sweatpants and a soft t-shirt. By the time you're putting on your socks, the pain is already much worse.

You go back into the main room. The curtain isn't all the way closed, so some light seeps through. It's late morning. You all went to bed really late, or early; it depends. Sam's in the somewhat sectioned off kitchen, making coffee. He turns to look at you, hearing your light footsteps. "Hey, (y/n)."

"Hey."

Sam turns back to the coffeemaker, but then glances back at you, his eyebrows scrunched together. "You okay?"

You were walking slowly, shuffling back to the bed. "No, yeah, it's just that joint thing again." He raises his eyebrows. "I'll be fine. I just need to get back in bed. And not move." Your lips twitch into a slight smile and try not to grimace.

When you reach the bed, you position the pillow so that you'll be somewhat sitting up when you get in bed. You stand there and look at the bed for a second. It's almost waist high, which means you'll have to lift you leg which will hurt a lot. But you suck it up and maneuver yourself onto the bed, biting your lip. You settle into the most comfortable position possible. You grab a lore book from the side of the bed and start reading.

Soon, you realize that your eyes have been scanning the page, but you haven't been reading anything. The pain is so bad that you can't concentrate. Sam walks over to the bed then and asks "Do you want anything? Coffee? I made enough for everyone. I'm going to go out and getting breakfast too."

You hate asking for things, but still. "Yeah, coffee, and, uh, some breakfast. I'll have what Dean always gets. You know what he gets, right?"

"Yeah; Dean never changes." You both laugh. "I'll get the coffee." Sam goes back into the tiny kitchen, fills a cup with coffee and puts sugar and cream in it, and brings it back to you. You take it, thankful for the warmth it brings to your fingertips. It's freezing in the room.

Embarrassed, you ask, "Sam, can you put the blanket over my legs? I can't reach it without moving."

"That bad, huh?" Sam asks, pulling up the blanket. You don't respond.

About ten minutes after Sam leaves, Dean wakes up. He stretches and rolls over, looking up at you. "Hey," he says in his sleepy voice. He's so adorable right after he wakes up (see above picture).

"Hey, babe." You smile, trying to hide the pain. If the meds were going to work, they already would have.

He props himself up on his elbow, looking at you suspiciously. "What did you do?"

"What?" You're genuinely confused.

"You have that look." He gestures vaguely. "We've been together long enough for me to know when you're lyin'."

"Yeah, okay." You sigh, and sink further in the bed. "You know that weird joint pain-ache thing?"

"That again?" You nod. He sits all the way up in the bed and kisses your cheek. He leans back. "How bad is it? Scale of one to ten."

"Like a six," you lie, a bit too easily.

"Oh, really?" You nod, maintaining the lie. "Then you wouldn't mind going into the kitchen and getting me a cup of coffee." Your face falters. "That's what I thought." He leans against the wall and stares into space, thinking.

"I'll just go ahead and answer all your questions." Dean swivels on the bed so he's laying down, but facing you. "I don't know why it happened. I don't need anything. Sam went to get breakfast; he should be back soon. Yes, it hurts to move even a little bit. Same as last time: like a deep ache in the joints of my legs. No, I don't want to go to the doctor." Dean sighs heavily at that one and rolls his eyes. "They'll stick giant needles in my legs!"

"No they won't!" Dean half-yells, exacerbated.

"You don't know that!" you counter. "Plus, it'll be so expensive. Even getting decent pain meds would be expensive, unless you wan to rip off a pharmacy." Dean looks like he's considering it. "Dean, we are not ripping off a pharmacy!" He shrugs. "I just need a distraction. Maybe we can watch Dr. Sexy M.D. together."

Dean laughs. "See. We know each other so well." He gets off the bed. "You find it on TV." He looks for the remote and hands it to you. "I'm gonna go shower and get dressed. You need anything else?" He takes your hand and rubs circles on it with his thumb.

"The answer to that question will always be no. If I need something, I'll ask you." You take your hand away from his and cross your arms.

"Ah, I see the Winchester tradition of stubbornness has been passed on to you." He grins, unoffended and ruffles your mostly dry hair.

Once Dean is in the bathroom with the door shut, you resist the urge to scream into a pillow. It honestly hurts like a son of a bitch. Talking helps, but every time you think about it, it gets worse.

You find the show and have watched a few minutes of it when Sam comes back in. He sets a bag of fast food on the bed right next to you. "Oh, thank you, I'm starving." You take out the food and dig in.

Sam walks over to the table and sits down, beginning to eat his own food. "So what happened while I was gone?"

You swallow the food and then speak. "Dean woke up. He's showering and then we're going to watch Dr. Sexy M.D. and I still feel like shit."

"Cool, cool." Sam takes another bite of his egg biscuit.

"You aren't going to ask if I need anything?" You take another bite of your food.

Sam chuckles. "I know better than that." You nod approvingly. "I guess we're staying here awhile, then."

"Unless you want to sedate me for the ride, then we aren't going anywhere." Sam laughs. "No, seriously." Sam raises an eyebrow. "My body feels like it wants to move, but if I move, it hurts." You almost whine.

Dean comes out of the bathroom then. You glare at Sam. Don't you tell my boyfriend what I just said, you communicate with your eyes.

While Sam's bitchface says You expect me to lie to my brother?

"Uh, what was that little exchange I just witnessed?" Dean points between you and Sam.

"Nothing!" you say.

"(Y/n)'s lying to you; she's in a lot of pain and -."

You throw the rolled up fast food bag at Sam. "I hate you!"

He catches the container. "I know," he responds lovingly.

Dean walks up to the bed, his hair wet from the shower, and now wearing a Led Zeppelin shirt with jeans. "I was joking." Lots of lying today.

"I'll take bullshit for 500, Alex," Dean says to you, then turns to Sam. "Take a walk, or go to the library."

"Kicked outta my own hotel room." Sam shakes his head, but leaves under Dean's glare.

Dean walks over to the other side of the bed and sits down next to you. "(Y/n)?" You stare straight ahead at the TV. "This is the fifth time in the last two weeks." Ah, so he has been paying attention. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "We have to do something soon. Look, we can find a free clinic –"

"Nuh uh. I'm fine. Look." In an effort to prove Dean wrong, you swing your legs over the bed and place your feet on the floor. You force yourself to put all your weight on your feet and walk a few steps away from the bed. You hold your arms out to the side. "See?" Even after all the pain from years of hunting, this pain is just a bit below where deep cuts or bullet grazes would be. It was a matter of seconds before you collapsed into a pile of tears, so you casually walked back to the bed and sat down next to Dean.

"You know I saw right through that, right?" There's a hint of frustration in his concerned tone.

"Oh, thank god." You collapse onto Dean, gripping his shirt tightly. Tears fight to escape, but you hold them back.

"Will you go to the doctor now?" he almost begs. You nod, biting your lip, because standing made it so much worse. "Okay, come on." He slips a hand under your knees and begins to carry you bridal-style out of the room. He somehow manages to get both of you outside and lock the door.

Your face is pressed against Dean's chest, so you don't see Sam when he asks, "What happened?"

"Open the door; the keys are in my front pocket." You turn your head slightly to look at Sam. He furrows his eyebrows in concern. Then he moves out of your field of vision and you hear the squeak of the Impala door. You whimper, unconsciously, into Dean's chest. "I finally convinced (y/n) to go to the doctor." Dean slowly lowers you into the front seat of the Impala. "Watch your head," he murmurs.

"Want me to come with?" Sam asks.

"No," you say through gritted teeth. "I don't want anyone else to witness this humiliation." You hug yourself tightly. Dean shuts the door, walks around the car and gets in the driver's seat.

He puts a hand on your shoulder, turns on the car, and starts driving. "I have to stop at the front desk and ask where there's a free clinic."

"Okay." You keep your eyes fixed on the tape deck. Dean stops the car soon and leaves. You focus on the sound of the Impala's engine, letting it comfort you.

Dean gets back after a minute and immediately starts driving. "So, the hospital is about ten minutes away, and they have a free clinic." You reach above your head and put your hand on his knee. He immediately takes your hand and squeezes it. "Anytime it hurts to much or you're scared, just hold my hand as tight as you can, okay?" You squeeze his hand in response. "Nice grip." He laughs.

Soon, you're at the hospital. Dean insists on carrying you inside. You try to shove him away, but he picks you up and says, "It's not like you can walk, and they'll take us back almost right away if I do this. Try to look sick," he mutters as the automatic doors open. You curl your head further into Dean's chest and close your eyes.

"Sir?" you hear a woman question, concerned. Dean walks forward to what must be the front desk. "Can I get a gurney over here?" she shouts. You blush; talk about humiliation.

"My girlfriend's been having joint pains. Five times in the last two weeks. Thank you," he says to someone. Then you're being lowered onto the gurney. "She can't move or walk when it happens." You keep your eyes closed and attempt to curl in on yourself.

Unknown hands pull at you. "Okay, we need you to lay down flat so we can get a good look at you."

"Dean." You hold out your hand expectantly.

His hand slips into yours. "Right here, babe. And another thing," he directs to one of the medical professionals "she hates doctors."

"I used to work with kids, so I'm used to it," a man says. You feel the gurney stop rolling.

"Are you calling me a child?" you ask, joking. Dean and the doctor laugh.

The doctor says to you, "We're just going to move you to a bed, okay?" Then there's a few sets of hands underneath you. "One, two, three." You're lifted off the gurney and put onto a bed. "Sir, I'm going to need you to step back."

"No!" you actually shout. You finally open your eyes and look around. You make eye contact with a man in teal scrubs. "I need Dean," you say through gritted teeth. At this point, you're holding Dean's hand with both of your's.

At the fierce look in your eyes, the doctor gives in. "Alright, he can stand by your head as long as he doesn't get in the way."

He looks over at Dean and Dean holds his hand up. "I won't cause any trouble, Doc." He moves in front of him to stand behind you.

"Karev, I'm guessing you're gonna be late to lunch." Walking towards you is a woman wearing dark blue scrubs under a lab coat.

"Hey, Torres," the doctor in teal says. "Actually, maybe you can help." The doctor, Karev, looks at you. "What's your name?"

"(y/n)," you answer.

"Okay, so (y/n) has been having severe joint pain. We were about to start the workup."

"I got this one. Go take lunch; I'll be there later," she says to Dr. Karev." The doctor in dark blue rolls a stool next to the bed, and sits down on it. She tilts her head to look at you. Her voice is gentle and she has a kind face. "Hi, (y/n), I'm Dr. Torres. I'm the orthopedic surgeon at the hospital here."

Your eyes widen. "Surgeon?"

"No, no, don't worry," she says quickly. "I was just here to have lunch with my friend and I thought I'd take over. You might need to go to rheumatology later, but we need to do the preliminaries here, okay?" You nod. "Let's get started then. Can you tell me where it hurts?" She has the most beautiful smile; straight, white teeth, and perfect lips.

Someone pulls at your arm and you jump. You look over at them. It's a woman, trying to put on a blood pressure cuff. You move your arm so she can, but don't move anything else.

"Can you move?" the doctor asks, drawing your attention back to her.

"I don't know; it hurts." You look up at Dean. His expression of concentration and fear changes quickly to one of reassurance and love. He squeezes your shoulder.

"Scale of one to ten? Ten being the worst pain you've ever felt?"

You feel the coldness of a stethoscope touch your chest, but you continue looking at Dean. "Eight," you say. Dean's expression falters a little, ranging back to fear.

He looks at Dr. Torres. "It wasn't that bad earlier."

You follow his eyes over to Dr. Torres. She puts the stethoscope back around her neck, moving her hair aside. "How long has this been going on?"

After a few seconds pause, Dean says "(Y/n)?" He sounds hurt and you can't look at him.

"A few months," you answer honestly. "It only got really bad in the last couple of weeks."

"Okay, okay. We just need to run some tests." She smiles again, first at Dean, then at you. "Then we'll figure out what's going on and we can treat it."

"How bad is it, Doc," Dean asks.

"I'm sorry; I don't have enough information yet to tell." Dean looks frustrated at that, so you squeeze his hand tighter. He bends down and kisses the top of your head. She continues, "Do you think you can lay flat for me?"

Despite this being some of the worst pain you've ever been in, you nod your head. Hunters aren't weak or scared. We kill monsters for a living; we can't afford weaknesses. You turn onto your back; just that small movement sends more pain throughout your lower joints. You clench your jaw, holding back a cry. You slowly stretch your legs out to their full length. Then you let your body relax. The pain is still an eight.

"Good job," Dr. Torres says. You lay your head back on the pillow and close your eyes, trying not to black out. Dean still has a hold on your hand; he's rubbing circles onto the back of it with his thumb. Just knowing he's there, that little touch, is so reassuring.

Dr. Torres continues to ask questions; Dean has to answer because the pain is too bad for you to form full, coherent sentences.

There's some awkwardness - when they have to put electrodes on your breasts for the heart monitor and when they have to take off your pants to examine your joints. But you can't be bothered with those trivial things because every touch or movement to your joints results in more pain, and you try not to scream, but sometimes you can't help it. They take tons of blood, but that's nothing. Every obvious sign of pain from you is met by encouragements from Dean and Dr. Torres.

After what feels like a small eternity, Dr. Torres looks at you. "We've done all that we can do for you here. We're in the Denny Duquette Memorial Clinic right now, but we'll have to move you to the hospital here, Grey + Sloan Memorial, since you can't stay here, and it seems like you're in too much pain to go home." She's trying to be comforting, trying to make things seem less scary and serious than they are. "You'll have to be admitted." She looks over at Dean. "Don't worry about the cost; we will figure something out. You have nothing to worry about." You look up at Dean, and he does look worried. "We're very good at what we do here; we'll do everything we can to get you better." You look back at her. "Okay?" she asks. You nod.

Dr. Torres looks at someone past you then back at you. "We're going to give you something for the pain, now, if you want." You nod again; sleep sounds nice right about now. "Good. I'll see you when you wake up later." She turns around and leaves.

Dean moves so that he's standing next to you, then he sits on the stool Dr. Torres used earlier so that he's face to face with you. He reaches over and puts his palm against your cheek then he smooths back your hair. "Thanks, Dean." Your eyes start to droop from the pain meds slowly seeping into your bloodstream.

"Takin' care of you is part of the job." You hear the smile in his voice. His lips press gently against yours. When he pulls away slightly, he breaths against your lips, "I love you."

• • •

What feels like days later, you wake up. Nothing hurts; you feel all floaty and it's hard to open your eyes. You look to the left to see Dean standing there. "Aunty Em?"

He laughs and strokes your hair. "How ya feeling?"

"Weird." You close your eyes and turn your head to the side. "But nothing hurts."

"That's good, I guess." You open your eyes again and look at him. He's smiling. "They did all the tests, but they don't have any of the results back." He pulls a chair up to the bed and sits down. He holds your hand in his and uses the other to stroke your hair. It's nice. You let your eyes close again, only feeling his touch.

A few minutes later, you hear someone walk in. You open your eyes, easier this time. It's Dr. Torres. Her face is unreadable. You squeeze Dean's hand tightly. The heart monitor speeds up a little. "So," she begins. "I have your test results."

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on personal experience. It's one of those things like where if you have a cold, you read or write a reader story involving colds. 
> 
> There will be no second chapter as it is too personal for me to share. 
> 
> If you want the story to remain ambiguous, stop reading. 
> 
> So here's what was happening. I have lyme disease. This means different things for different people. I had a few general symptoms, but the main one was joint pain. I had already been diagnosed on the day this happened. I was at my grandparents' house. I laid on the couch all day, with a pillow behind my back and one under my legs. They left in the morning, and by the time they got back late at night, I had only gotten up twice all day, once to shower and brush my teeth and once to go to the bathroom. That was when I wrote this one shot. 
> 
> I never had to go to the hospital, but as the pain started getting more frequent, I went to my doctor who is one of those people who works with all natural stuff instead of prescription drugs or whatever. That's when I was diagnosed. I did miss a few days of school when things were really bad. It got better after I started taking medicine for it. I've had very minor joint pain lately (noticeable but not enough to keep me in bed all day or miss school) but that's it. 
> 
> Thanks to anyone who's read this far. 
> 
> Okay, bye.


End file.
